Nova Peak blutbefleckt

Like Mahler, Wylla had slept under the swirling clouds and falling rain every night since arriving at Nova Peak. Even in Sagtannet, upon abandoning her whelping den, she hadn't returned to sleeping underground. She preferred the open air, the feeling of wind in her ruff, the comfort of knowing that if danger arrived, she could spring in any number of directions. Dens had always made her feel trapped and vulnerable. She valued the common sense, however, of Mahler wanting a safe and dry place to recover.

I want to stay with you, she blurted, catching herself only at the end with widening eyes. To keep watch and be available if you need anything, she blustered by way of explanation, dropping her gaze to the ground and refusing to lift it to his dark face again. She didn't sense his hesitation to let her help him, nor his frustration with his current state. She sensed only his pain pulsing in every step he took, every grit of his teeth, and her heart ached for the toll this would take on him and on Sagtannet.

It was her job to step up now. Maybe the pack as a whole didn't respect her the way they did Mahler—she believed this in her bones to be true—and maybe that stung, but personal feelings aside, she couldn't let the pack falter while he recovered. It was a disservice to them, and a greater disservice to the man who'd kept them going all this time.

We don't need to make a healer of me, she retorted. We have you. You will get better. It was a command, not a hope. If he thought she was going to let him exert himself and slow his healing, he had another thing coming. He'd always admired that she was a fierce she-wolf, even when the blade was turned on him; now, if he chose stubbornness over good sense, he would see another facet of her altogether, the part of her that had proven good for motherhood, even if her personality otherwise wasn't ideal for it.